ISADORA DUNCAN DANCING

Fling the stones and let them all

Lie;

Take a breath, and toss the ball

High —

And before it strikes the floor

Of the hoar and aged shore,

Sweep them up, though there should be

Even more than two or three.

Add a pebble, then once more

Fling the stones and let them all

Lie;

Take a breath, and toss the ball

High....

Rises now the sound of ancient chants

And the circling figure moves more slowly.

Thus the stately gods themselves must dance

While the world grows rapturous and holy.

Thus the gods might weave a great Romance

Singing to the sighs of flute and psalter;

Till the last of all the many chants,

And the priestess sinks before the altar.

Cease, oh cease the murmured singing;

Hush the numbers brave or blithe,

For she enters gravely swinging,

Lowering and lithe —

Dark and vengeful as the ringing

Scythe meets scythe.

While the flame is fiercely sweeping

All her virgin airs depart;

She is, without smiles and weeping

Or a maiden's art,

Stern and savage as the leaping

Heart meets heart!

Now the tune grows frantic,

Now the torches flare —

Wild and corybantic

Echoes fill the air.

With a sudden sally

All the voices shout;

And the bacchic rally

Turns into a rout.

Here is life that surges

Through each burning vein;

Here is joy that purges

Every creeping pain.

Even sober Sadness

Casts aside her pall,

Till with buoyant madness

She must swoon and fall...